Fifteen Moments
by Wren Gebel
Summary: Fifteen moments shared by Draco and Hermione in their '8th' year at Hogwarts. Rated T for mild swearing and a few uses of the f-bomb. ONE-SHOT! NOW WITH SEQUEL! LOOK FOR fifteen more ON MY PROFILE!


One.

This is stupid. Why would they elect a pure-blood Slytherin, not to mention, former Death Eater, as Head-boy? I don't even want the stupid position. Bloody Weasley can have it for all I care. Oh right. He was handed his future on a silver platter for being Potter's sidekick. So was Granger, so why the hell didn't she take it? The know-it-all should be sitting in a leather chair in some office with her nose buried in paperwork. But she's not. I can see her from here. She's at the Gryffindor table, the candles behind her making her hair seem ten times bigger, and the light glinting off her Head's badge.

I had refused to wear mine. I can feel it in my pocket right now. It's heavy and cold against my leg, impossible to ignore. Just like the stares.

It's like people are simultaneously terrified and humoured by me. They sneer and whisper like I'm sitting here in the nude. And that's not the worst part. I can't buy anything from most of the shops in Diagon Alley anymore. I can't walk down the street without someone telling me I should be in Azkaban or dead.

I should be. Azkaban or dead, you choose. It would be better than being here because I wouldn't be me anymore. In Azkaban I'd lose my mind. In death I'd cease to exist. Either way, I wouldn't be back at Hogwarts feeling like a complete stranger even though it had practically been my home for seven years. They wouldn't have chosen me as the bloody Head-boy. I wouldn't have to look at myself in the mirror every morning and think about all the times that I could have done something a little different to make me turn out a little better.

McGonagall's giving the end of feast speech. It isn't right. She isn't batty enough to be headmistress. Damn Dumbledore for dying. Damn Snape for killing him. If he'd lived for even one more day this could be different.

Suddenly everyone stands up, so I do too, even though I don't really know what's going on. Oh, we're leaving.

"Malfoy!"

I don't even look up. I already know it's Granger, and I already know she's going to try to tell me how to find the Head dorms, but I wish she would just boot.

"Malfoy!"

God that voice is grinding.

"What do you want?" I growl at her.

"McGonagall wanted me to take you to the Head dorms."

I glance up at her. She's wringing her hands together, her knuckles are so tight they're white. Bloody hell. Even she's afraid of me. There was a time when I would have loved that, but now it's annoying. I'm tired of people cowering away because I was a idiot as a kid.

At least she isn't cowering. She's standing tall and proud as can be. But her hands are wringing, pulling on her fingers, stretching the skin. And it pisses me off.

"I know where the bloody Head dorms are, Granger." I take a step away from her.

"Oh," she says, but damn it if she doesn't follow me all the way into the hall.

I speed up because I want my space. Too many bodies. All skin and bone and sweat and tears. It's disgusting. That's the only good thing that will come out of being Head-boy. I get my own room. I only have to share the common room with one other person, and that person is Granger so I'll be damned if I spend any time there anyway.

Maybe that's why they made me Head-boy, so that I could be away from everyone. They're probably afraid of me too. Afraid I'll decide to start slitting throats if I share a room with anyone else.

When we reach the portrait hole I wait for Granger to say the password and then I'm in and closed in my room as if this _were_ my Azkaban cell.

…

Two.

Granger is constantly there. Every. Bloody. Time. Why can't she study in her room? Sometimes I'd like to pass through the damn common room without her eyes boring holes in my back.

I know she's watching me. My hair pricks up on the back of my neck and my muscles twitch.

I turn my head quickly, but she's got her nose buried into some book I can't see the title of, no matter how hard I try.

Pointing my brows, I eye her as I open my door which squeaks and grinds on its hinges.

…

Three.

Dreamless Sleep potion is shit. I'd like to sue whomever said this stuff actually makes you sleep. I haven't slept for days. I know it will pass, just like it has every other time, but it makes something behind my eyes itch like crazy and my fingers are too weak to reach it.

I get up in the dark because I know trying to fall back asleep will be like reliving the worst years of my life. Every time I close my eyes, every time I _blink_ , there's a flash of green, a scream of pain, another body, the smell of blood and smoke.

The floorboards creak like a swaying ship. I go to the little kitchenette to make myself tea in the dark, because what else can I do besides drive myself mad by staring at the ceiling?

The common room is a different room entirely at night. It's not just the dark that makes it weird, but the kind of thin silence that takes up the room. It's almost like walking around in your dreams. Things don't feel real, but there they are.

The kitchenette isn't empty. Someone is standing there, making tea in the dark. The moon outlines her hair and glows off her skin.

There is something weird about seeing Granger after dark too.

She turns to do something and catches me standing there. She lets out a squeak of surprise and clutches her shirt over her heart.

"Oh God, Malfoy, I didn't see you!" Her voice is full of air.

I almost laugh, but I stop myself.

Instead, I reach up into the cupboards to find a box of teabags. I like mint because it's hot and cold at the same time, and the smell is strong and clouding.

"Can't you sleep?" she asks.

I nearly cringe at her words. "Can't you?"

She answers honestly and it catches me off guard. "No. I find chamomile tea helps. And sometimes I open the window and breath in the the cool air."

I see the chamomile box next to the mint. I make sure she isn't looking before I grab it. That's how desperate I am I guess.

She leans against the counter for a moment while I make my tea. I eye her as she blows the steam away like smoke. I wonder what keeps her up.

I can hear her suck on the rim of the mug as I focus back on my tea. Finally, she sighs and pushes away from the counter. She goes to the bay window against the east wall and seems to settle in.

My room is cold. I think for a second about going back into the common room with Granger. just one second.

…

Four

You don't notice how much you talk to other people until you have no one to talk to. I have no one to talk to. I always thought it was something I could live without, but it's near maddening. I owl my mother, but she sometimes takes weeks to respond. Besides, I can't talk to her about the same things I could talk to someone else about.

I must be bloody lonely because I'm sitting in the common room with Granger, in silence, but I keep waiting for her to say something. Almost wishing she would say something because I feel like a ghost.

"Your hair looks like a rat's nest."

I don't know where that came from. I just opened my mouth and words fell out.

Granger purses her lips and glares at me over her book.

That gets my heart rate up, makes me feel more alive.

She looks back down at her book, and for a second I don't think she's going to say anything.

"Aren't we over childish name-calling?" Her voice is sharp.

"I didn't call you a name," I say because it's true, and because I know she's partly right. I know exactly what type of 'name-calling' she's referring to and that word died on my lips far longer ago than she thinks. "I was simply commenting on your appearance."

"I know how I look, Malfoy. I don't need you telling me how ugly I am."

The air gets heavy. For some reason, I feel like I've crossed some sort of line Granger has covered behind her books and papers.

"I didn't say it was a bad thing."

She gives me the same surprised look I probably have on my face right now. What did I just say? Because I don't remember thinking about what I was going to say.

Then she smiles. Just the tiniest, little smile.

Bloody hell.

…

Five.

Granger has gotten into this annoying habit where she asks me things. What's worse is I've gotten into the annoying habit of replying.

I take back what I said earlier. I'll go back to the silence.

She has her things all spread out on the small table. Quills and paper are everywhere.

I've come out of my room to check for things I could possibly stuff between two pieces of bread. Her head springs up, and I can tell she's about to ask one of her annoying questions.

"Can-"

I cut her off without even looking at her. "No."

I hear her huff as I search the cupboards.

"Can I-"

"No."

Damnit. All we have is tea and a handful of mints. What the hell am I supposed to do with that?

" _Malfoy._ " She's annoyed now. Good. Now she knows how I feel.

"Granger," I say, just because I think it will get her more riled up.

"Can I ask you a question?" she manages to get out.

That takes me by surprise because normally she doesn't ask for permission. "I already told you, no."

I take a mint and watch her eyes darken and her lips purse as I unwrap it.

"I just want to know why you came back." Her words are short and sharp. She looks down at her paper, cheeks flushed for some reason.

My body stiffens involuntarily. That's something no one has bothered to ask. Not even my mother. Because people do this nasty thing where they assume. They assume I was forced to come back by the Ministry. They assume I want to come back to try to rebuild my reputation. But they can all screw off because they assume wrong.

I try to open my mouth to answer, but it's like my throat has swelled shut and my tongue has shriveled. Shit. Why is it so hard to talk about this?

Swallowing thickly, I manage to get a few words out even though I probably sound like a stammering fool.

"I wanted to."

"Oh," she says.

It's quiet, which is something I normally like, except I can hear this ringing in my ears. I remember the mint in my hand and pop it into my mouth.

"I want to be a Healer," I say, though I'm not sure why because I should have just left it at that.

"Oh?" Is that all she can bloody say?

"I've wanted to since I was young." I sighed and leaned against the counter. "Though I might as well just give it up."

Her eyes get about twice as big even though she's frowning. "Why?"

The side of my nose wrinkles. "Because, Granger, who's going to come to a Healer who was a Death Eater?"

She's thinking. I can tell because her brow slightly knits, and her mouth opens a little in a kind of frown.

"I would."

"What?"

She flushes. "I would come to you."

"Why? That's stupid."

"Fine. I won't then."

"Fine."

What the hell is happening?

…

Six.

Rain slaps against the window and the thunder growls like a mighty beast. Groaning, I cover my head with my pillow as white lightning illuminates the room.

The storm started sometime around midnight and it's kept me up ever since. The constant noise from the rain like someone is crinkling a plastic bag next to my ear is driving me mad.

Suddenly, there is a crash. Not of thunder, but like someone in the common room knocked over a vase.

I sit, quiet, listening.

The thunder rolls, making me jump out of my skin.

"Shit."

I know I won't fall back asleep so I pad bearfoot out to the common room.

It's Granger. Of course. She's standing with her wand lit over the shards of a vase I didn't even know we had.

I'm about to tell her whatever nasty thing falls out of my mouth when she looks up at me with eyes like a dear and I stop myself because something isn't right.

"Granger- what-"

She swallows and looks down at the broken vase like she can't understand what's happening.

Another flash of lighting and crack of thunder.

She jumps, flinching away from the window where the rain is beating.

I get it now.

She looks back at me and says, very pointedly, "I'm fine."

I frown because I hadn't asked. And I don't care.

Gingerly, she stoops and begins to pick up the pieces of ceramic. Her hands are shaking like mad. The pieces clank together and fall back onto the floor.

I could have easily lifted my wand and repaired the vase, but I walk over and pinch a large piece between my fingers, setting up on the end table it had come from.

She ignores me as I help her pick up the rest. Doesn't even say thanks. Last time I'll help her.

 _Boom_.

No lightning this time, just thunder.

She drops the last piece and it shatters into a million more bloody pieces.

"Oh no," I can barely hear her whisper.

"I'll get it," I say, scooping the shards into my hand.

"I'm fine." She doesn't look at me, but she stands up, shaking her hands like she doesn't know what to do with them, and then continues on her route to the kitchenette.

My knees pop when I stand up again.

Granger is reaching up, rustling through the boxes of tea. All of a sudden she stops, bringing her hands to her face.

I think she's crying.

What the hell am I supposed to do? Am I supposed to do anything at all?

I walk over, about three feet away from her, awkwardly wringing my hands like an idiot.

"I like mint," I say.

I can't tell if she's heard me or not. She rubs the tears from her flushed cheeks and eyes, but some still cling to her eyelashes like dew on a spider's web. Everything about her is puffy. Her cheeks, her eyes, her hair. Seeing Granger like this makes something in my chest itch.

"What?" Her voice sounds a million years old.

"I like mint," I repeat. "Tea."

This is weird. I don't know if I like where it's going.

"It's hot and cold at the same time. It goes up in my head and clears my mind."

She just looks at me.

What? What, Granger? What do you want from me?

"Here." I grab the box of mint and take out two tea bags and hand her one.

She sniffs, rubbing her nose with the back of her hand before taking it.

I make my own tea. After a little bit she makes her's. I stand, leaning against the counter to watch her.

She tries to take a sip, but her hands are shaking like mad and that roll of thunder doesn't help. The tea sloshes in the cup like an angry sea.

For the first time I ask her, "are you okay?" Because if she drops dead right now do you know who will be blamed for it? Me. That's right.

"I'm fine."

She brings the rattling cup up to her face, lightly blowing away the steam, and tries to take a drink, but her hands just won't cooperate.

Setting down my cup, I take a step to her and wrap my hands around her mug. Around her fingers.

Fuck.

Her skin is like lightning.

"I'm fine," she says again.

"Well, you don't seem fine, Granger."

A shaky breath of air whooshes out of her and I see her swallow hard again.

I slowly push the cup to her lips, keeping it steady.

She closes her eyes and parts her lips, taking a slurp of the hot drink. I wonder briefly if this is what Weasley sees before he kisses her.

…

Seven

It's quiet. So quiet that it makes my ears ring. I'm staring at the wall in the common room. The moon is a sliver, barely casting the room in silver.

These sleepless nights seem to become more and more frequent. I don't know what to do. After tearing at the blankets of my bed for hours, I came out here to stare at the wall. There isn't any more tea and I don't know how to get some. I could sneak to the kitchens, but that would require too much effort.

Sounds seem to echo out here more. At least they do in the dark. I can hear a leaf blow against the window and every sound I make is intensified by fifty.

I drop my head in my hands and grind at my eyes, thinking I might try to go back to bed, when I hear a door open.

How the hell does Granger know I'm out here?

She takes one look at me and doesn't hesitate before saying, "I can't sleep." And then she comes and sits down right beside me on the sofa.

"Why?" What I mean is 'why did you have to come sit right here?' but she thinks I'm actually concerned with why she can't sleep.

"Every time I close my eyes all the things that happened before happen again. It's so real. I can smell it, taste it, feel it." I notice she's gently running the pads of her fingers over the scars on her forearm. I swallow acid. It makes me sick to think about what happened and what I didn't do to stop it.

"I'm sorry," I say, and I think I mean it, even though I can't believe I got myself to say it. "For…" I think. There are too many things I should apologize for. "...a lot of things," I sigh.

At first she looks surprised that I have the decency to apologize, but then she looks down at her hands and the scars on her arm and whispers, "It's not your fault."

"Are you kidding me?" That comes out a little bit louder than I want, but I can't stop my volume from rising. "I became a fucking Death Eater, Granger! Everything that happened during the war is _exactly_ my fault!"

She looks up with her eyes wild and narrow in a way that I can tell she's about to tell me off. She looks like her younger self for a second.

"Don't you dare say that, Draco Malfoy!" she shrieks. The whole castle is going to wake up. "You may think that you're all strong and superior, but you were just a little child!"

"I know I wasn't strong! I was weak! A coward! That's why it's my fault! I wouldn't stop it!" I think my face is red. My eyes are hot and I think I'm crying which is really embarrassing. "I was too scared to tell them I wanted out! Such a coward that I couldn't raise my fucking wand and make them stop hurting them, you, everyone!" I swipe angrily at my eyes. I'm still weak now. I can't hold my emotions back like my mother always told me too. I was never good at that and apparently I'm particularly horrible at it in front of Granger.

"I'm sorry," says softly.

"So am I," I snap back.

There is a pregnant pause filled with the heaviest silence of my life. I've managed to stop crying, but my face, I'm sure, is red and raw with salt water.

"Can I see it?" Granger asks.

Somehow I know what she's talking about. "No."

"Please?"

"It's disgusting. It should be cutten off, burned down, ripped out; not looked at."

"Please show it to me, Draco."

I give her a sideways glance for saying my name. It makes me feel weird. I should be Malfoy to her, not Draco.

Her eyes beg. Good God, this woman never gives up.

Sighing, I pull back the sleeve of my pyjama shirt, exposing the nasty mark. I watch her face the whole time. I don't like looking at it, and for some reason, I _really_ don't like her looking at it. It isn't right. The mark is a symbol of everything against her.

Her lips are slightly parted and her eyes are round, flicking intently over the dark area. She's… fascinating.

Then a jolt of lightning runs through my arm from a small spot right next to the mark. She's touching it, very gently, but her fingers leave warm tracks of fire.

I pull away abruptly. "Stop."

She jumps at the sudden movement, pulling her hand to her chest. "Does it hurt?"

"I just-" I breathe deeply. "I just don't like you touching it. It isn't right. I'm- It's-." Why is it so hard to talk? Speak, Draco, you bloody idiot!

"I know," she says before I can say anymore. Of course she knows. She's Hermione bloody Granger. She knows everything! "But it doesn't mean anything anymore. The war is over and we need to get used to the scars we have, but we don't have to let them tell us who we are."

I chew my lip and stare at her. I feel like should say or do something. There is a piece of hair falling into her face, I could move that. No. That would be weird. Not like this whole situation isn't.

"Do you want to see mine?"

I hesitate, watching her with interest.

She scoots closer so that I can feel her body heat and makes it all stuffy in here. Damn you, Granger. Extending her arm to me, I can see the white lines crudely embossed into her skin. It comes back in waves. I cringe, remembering her screams, seeing the knife split her skin and doing nothing. Why didn't I do anything?

I look up at her to see she's watching me intently. I raise my hand so my fingers are hovering over her arm and almost ask her for permission with my eyes.

She doesn't pull away, so I gently place my index finger on the jagged letter _M_. I let out a shaky breath and softly run my finger over it to the next letter. I'm afraid that if I press down too hard I'll hurt her.

She sighs. "It feels nice to have something gentle on it."

"Does it hurt?"

"Only when I dream about it. Does yours?"

I put the back of her hand in the palm of mine and look down at my mark. "Sometimes."

"You know, there's this muggle thing-" she licks her lips and stares at my chin like she's unsure. "Where when someone gets hurt, you kiss it to make it feel better."

My eyebrows go up a little and my eyes flick to her face. She's looking at me sheepishly and biting her lip, her cheeks are bright red.

She's totally set me up for it, but I lean down anyway and softly kiss the middle of the word on her arm. It's like being set on fire from the inside of my chest out. Like this heavy darkness has been lifted.

When I look back at her, my face hot, she's tearing up for some reason.

I grab her cheek, no matter how stupid it is, and rub away a tear with my thumb. She isn't attractive. Not in the tiny waist, oiled body, sexy magazine way. She is a real person with emotions and problems and feelings. She's raw and alive and for some reason she's beautiful despite it all.

But I'm not supposed to feel this way. I'm not supposed to look at her and feel my heart beat a little faster and my hands get a little sweatier and my face turn a little redder. But if I'm not supposed to then why is she getting closer? Why is my heart beating faster? Why does my other hand go into her hair and push her toward me? Why do I feel like I can't breathe? Why do I want to kiss Hermione Granger more than anything right now?

It's dumb, and crazy, and completely mental, but I kiss her anyway. Soft and slow because I'm afraid too fast will scare her off. She responds just as gently, sighing lightly, and I can feel her fingers dancing over the skin of my Dark Mark, rubbing it carefully. A weight has been lifted. I'm light. I'm free.

And damnit! Why does this have to feel so good? If I could only ignore how it feels so right I'd remember why it's so wrong. But, bloody hell, I don't want to.

…

Eight

I have a problem. It's called Granger, and it's the biggest pain in my arse. Mostly because she won't get the hell out of my head. I can't focus, I can't study, and I now have a new reason I can't fall asleep at night.

…

Nine

So what are we supposed to do? I want to just act like it never happened, because nothing could ever happen. It isn't right. I should feel disgusted and repulsed. But at the same time, I don't want to just ignore it.

Granger sure seems to be able to forget about it. In fact, she seems to avoid looking, talking, or coming anywhere near me.

I look down at my Dark Mark. It's faded, but still prevalent. I imagine that there are unbreakable ropes extending from every line in the mark, and that those ropes cocoon me in an invisible forcefield, and that forcefield is keeping people away from me, it's keeping out people I really want in.

There is a knife in the second drawer on the left in the kitchenette. I could take it and press the cool blade into my skin around the mark and sever the ropes. I could cut myself free from the shity person I used to be.

I itch the skin lightly and shake my head. Who am I kidding? It's not just the mark. It's me.

…

Ten

For some reason, three seventeen in the morning wakes me up. The sky is black, the room is grey, my skin is pale from fatigue.

Granger sits in the bay window. The whole common room is chilled because she has it open. As the wind blows, the night spills in through the crack and wraps around her, making her shiver despite the blanket she has over her shoulders.

I grab the grey throw off the back of the couch and pad over to her.

She jumps when she sees me, but then smiles as I sit down next to her. Her head goes on my shoulder like it's the most natural thing and she sighs. I sigh, too, and try not to shiver at her warm cheek against my cool shoulder or her hot breath against my cold neck.

After a moment, I feel for her hand. She has tiny fingers, so small and brittle almost. I could crush her, so I hold her gingerly and try not to let her slip away.

…

Eleven

Granger has nightmares. Teeth-grinding, fist-clenching, raw-throat nightmares. I don't know how I never noticed them before. Maybe they've just gotten particularly bad lately, but her thumping and screaming is hard to ignore. It makes me want to puke-actually-just listening to her.

Her door is closed, but it opens without magic.

She has her blankets twisted around her legs. She's tossing around, breathing hysterically, clenching her throat and trying to scream.

I don't know what to do.

"Granger," I say loudly, trying to wake her up, but her own moans are louder than that. "Granger." I take her shoulder and shake her lightly. It seems to worsen it, make the nightmares seem more real.

Her fingers wrap around the scars on her arm and begin to pinch the letters, pick at them, scratching them with her nails until it turns red and even blood beads there.

"Shit! Granger, stop!" I grab her hand from her arm and pin it against the bed which drives her mad. Her back arches and a scream bubbles inside of her.

"I don't know!" she sputters out between sobs.

I freeze, a wave of my own terror coming over me. She's reliving that night. That night I could have done something. This time I will. I'll stop it.

"Granger wake up!" I yell at her. "Hermione!" It's the first time I've said her first name aloud and I'm glad she's asleep and can't hear it because it sounded stupid coming from my mouth for the first time.

Still, she doesn't wake.

I grab her other arm, trying to work fast because I know it's sending her into a panic. I climb over her and press her hands to the mattress so that _Mudblood_ is glaring up at me and so she can't pick her own skin from her bones.

I ignore her heaving chest and straining muscles and furrowed brow and I lean over and kiss the letter M.

She's still shaking, still crying, but she lets up a little.

I do the same to the u. Then the d and the b. All the way to the last letter. All the way until she's done fighting, just lying there, breathing heavy with tears tracking into her hair.

Still holding her hands, I press my forehead against hers, trying to calm my own beating heart.

"It's just a dream." I barely whisper this, but she hears me.

"Thank you." I breathe in her words.

A wave of need comes over me in heavy crashes. And soon I'm kissing her.

And she's kissing back, sucking growls from my lips and deepening the kiss.

My hands travel down her arms to her stomach, under her shirt.

When my fingers touch her bare flesh she gasps against my mouth and I hesitate. I bloody hesitate for her because I don't want to hurt her. I wonder when I started caring about Granger like this.

She keeps kissing me and even puts her hand on the back of my neck, gently tugging my hair, so I spread my hands over her stomach. She's so soft, it's like running my hands over fleece.

If I could just form a damn thought right now I might smarten up and stop, but the only thought I have is that I want this, _need_ this, and she wants it too.

My fingers get all the way up her stomach so that my knuckles are rubbing on the underside of her breasts before she pulls away.

Fuck. What did I do wrong?

"Are you okay?" I ask because she's looking at me so deeply I think she can read my thoughts.

She swallows. Her face is flushed, lips swollen, eyes dark, it makes my heart pick up and my blood rush south. "Yes. It's just-" she bites her lip and I nearly groan out loud. How is she doing this to me? "I've never done this before."

"What? Kiss?" The words sound absurd leaving my mouth. Why do I have to be such a dick about everything?

"No-" she seems to turn an even deeper shade of red. "Touching."

Oh shit.

"Oh shit."

Oh shit.

I should have known, though. This is Hermione Granger. She has morals, standards, plans. I guess I had just assumed with her and handsy Krum in fourth year or with slimy Weasley that something would have happened. At least before me.

Which is why I can't do this.

I roll off of her. "I'm sorry, Granger."

"What's wrong?" She sounds genuinely confused. God, I'd hate to know what she thinks about me.

"I can't be the one to do this to you. Not for the first time. You deserve someone better."

She doesn't say anything.

I'm about to leave when I feel her hand on mine.

"Could you just stay?" she asks. "The nightmares-I hate waking up from them alone." Is added quickly as if it's an excuse, but I'd like to think she wants me to stay for other reasons.

Nodding, I untangle the covers from her feet and pull them over the two of us, laying down beside her. She has my hand and hugs my arm with her cheek on my shoulder.

It isn't something I'm used to and it sure as hell isn't something I ever thought I'd get again after everything that happened. I want to laugh or cry or something. I don't know.

Fatigue suddenly hits me when I close my eyes. Something about lying next to Granger makes it incredibly easy to finally fall asleep. She's comforting.

Just as I'm drifting off I hear her whisper. "Draco?"

Again with my first name. How is that so easy for her?

"Hmm?"

"I don't think I want anyone better."

I freeze. My throat sizes up. Her hand moves across my chest, right over my heart, so I'm sure she can feel it beating-beating, a million miles an hour.

…

Twelve

Something is happening between Granger and me.

She smiles when I look at her.

Most people grimace, or frown, or sneer.

But Granger smiles.

…

Thirteen

"What's your favourite food?"

"Hmm?" I ask, startled by her sudden question.

"What's your favourite food?" she asks again. It's such a Granger question.

I look up at the vast expanse of stars above and contemplate for a while.

"Pasta, perhaps. Something cheesey. What's yours?"

I roll my head to look at her. The moon is shining off her face, making harsh shadows and sharp lines.

"Cookies," she says immediately like she's already given some thought to it. "Sugar cookies."

I smile and rub the back of her hand with my thumb because the more I learn about her, no matter how small the fact, I fall a little more deeply in love with her.

Oh. Have I forgotten to mention that I have fallen completely head-over-heals for the one person I'm not supposed to love? Well there it is. It's out there now. And no one can know. She said so herself. Kind of. She said she thought it was best Potter and Weasley didn't know about us yet. Which, no matter how much I agree with her, makes me wonder if she loves me back.

Looking back at the stars, I swallow. The words are on my lips-the tip of my tongue-but instead of telling her I swallow them down. What if I told her? What if I told her and we had to keep it secret for the rest of our lives, because there are people, no matter how much they say they disagreed with blood prejudice, that wouldn't be so quick to accept. Or worse, what if I told her I loved her and she looked at me with her big, apologetic eyes and said, 'Draco I had no idea'.

It would ruin me. I would die. Literally. My skin would shrink and shrivel and I'd curl up and die.

So, instead of saying those three words my lips ache for me to say, I compensate and tell her, "You're beautiful."

And of course she smiles and blushes and covers her face with her hand. And I lean over top of her, pulling it away from her face and, after looking at her lovingly for a moment, bow down and place a gentle kiss on her lips and whisper through my mind _I love you._

And just hope she gets the message.

…

Fourteen

There aren't that many days of school left. About a week and then I'll never see Hogwarts again. That thought is scary as hell.

What's even scarier, is that in a week Granger and I won't have an excuse to see each other anymore.

We'll leave and she'll go on to be successful and well known for her House Elf Rights movement or something, and I'll go on and scramble for jobs that would consider hiring an ex-Death Eater, and I'll never see her again.

…

Fifteen

I watch Granger get off the train and bound into the arms of her friends, all big smiles and laughter and not a single glance toward me.

Bile rises in my throat when I force myself to turn away from her. I wring my hands and then shove them in my pockets and force my way out of the crowded train station.

I'm an idiot. I didn't even say goodbye. But I don't look back. I need to take the first step to forgetting something I can't have. So I keep walking, even when I'm out of the station and in an empty alley where I could easily apparate away. But to where? Home? That place isn't home anymore.

Anger makes me hot and shaky. My fists clench painfully and I stop to punch the brick wall hard. Now my knuckles are bruised and sting horribly, but I deserved that.

I'm about to punch the wall again, with my other hand to even it out, when I hear the most shrill, annoying, angry voice I've ever heard. And it warms me from the inside out.

"Draco Malfoy!"

Hermione Granger, in all her glory, was stomping down the alley way, red in the face, hair practically crackling with rage.

"How _dare_ you just leave me back there!" She raises her hand and smacks me. Really hard.

"Ow! Granger!" I bring my hand to my cheek which is sure to be as red as the rest of her face. She's fuming, shaking with anger. Her eyes are glistening with fury. And I think she's the most beautiful I've ever seen her. "I thought you wanted me to go! I thought you wanted to just forget about everything!" I tell her quickly before she can smack me again.

" _Wanted_ you to go? Malfoy, why on earth would you think I wanted to forget everything when you know I love you! You stupid, bloody-"

"What?" I cut her off sharply.

"I said I love you, you idiot!" her hand comes up to slap me again, but I catch it, frowning. She looks up at me, a little frightened.

"Oh, thank God," I tell her, my voice low. I'm struggling to keep cool, but I've exploded inside, I can't nearly contain myself. "Because I love you, too."

Her eyes widen and suddenly she grabs my collar and kisses me so hard our teeth knock and lips bruise. But I don't pull away, don't come up for breath. I push her back against the brick wall and snog her like my life depended on it. It does, actually.

What has this bloody witch done to me?

* * *

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